


Meaning of Life Stuff

by mickeym



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s02e21 1969, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-19
Updated: 2005-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:55:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack contemplates the stuff that gives his life meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meaning of Life Stuff

As rides went, the mini-bus wasn't the most comfortable Jack ever had, but it wasn't the worst, either. Air-conditioning would've been nice, but again, he was used to much worse conditions. Compared to a lot of the field missions he'd been on, past and present, this one was a piece of cake.

Course, it would've been nice to know for sure they were going to be able to pull off getting back home. Eh, well, certainty was for wimps. He signed away his right to certainty every time he stepped through the Stargate.

Day three of their cross-country trip...or was it day four? Probably technically, it was day four, but if so, it was only by a few hours at most. Jack reached above him and pushed at one of the curtains, edging it open just a little. Dark, dark and more dark. Must be cloudy out, too, because the tiny dots of starlight weren't visible tonight.

The only sound, apart from tires on the highway, was the quiet murmur in the front, between Sam and Teal'c, and that was more white noise than anything. Jack couldn't hear what they were talking about and even if he could, chances are he wouldn't understand it. At least not Sam's portion of the conversation.

Warm toes nudged his leg, and Jack turned his attention away from the window, toward Daniel, sprawled at the other end of the couch. Bunk. Bench. Whatever this was they were sitting on. Across the aisle, on the other...bench thing...Michael and Jenny were curled up against each other, sound asleep.

"You awake?" He whispered the question, in case Daniel really was asleep; no point in waking him -- or anyone else -- up.

"Mmm. No." The words were sleep-slurred, long and a little breathy, and Jack grinned into the darkness.

"Okay. Sleep some more."

"M'kay." Daniel gave a little sigh and his foot nudged at Jack again, skin warm, even through his jeans, where it pressed against Jack's leg.

It was kind of harder than it should've been, resisting the urge to reach out and touch.

Close. So close.

Closer than they dared, closer than they should...not nearly close enough to satisfy.

If it weren't so dark, Jack could've turned and stared at Daniel, taking the seldom-given chance to look at features he actually knew by heart but didn't get to look at often enough.

It wasn't just Daniel's features, though. It was everything, the whole package. The voice that could be calm and soothing when smoothing ruffled diplomatic feathers. The way Daniel would go nose-to-nose with him -- or anyone else -- if he felt his opinion wasn't being taken seriously. The way he didn't back down when he thought he was right. The way Daniel threw himself into...everything...with a passion Jack sometimes envied. Almost, he could remember being passionate about things like that. Almost. Mostly those memories pre-dated Charlie's death and Sarah's leaving.

The mini-bus hit a particularly vicious bump and Daniel shifted again, muttering something under his breath in a language that didn't sound much like English. Or any other language Jack could maybe identify as being modern and of this world.

_I speak twenty-three different languages. Pick one._

Cocky SOB, Daniel. So fucking smart that Jack felt -- sometimes -- completely out of his element, talking to him. And then Daniel would grin, that quirky little smile, and make a stupid joke that more often than not fell flat, and Jack would bounce back into place and remember Daniel was just like him. A man making his way through life. Searching for things to give his life meaning.

It wasn't often Jack allowed himself the luxury of sentimentality. Plain and simple, it was a luxury he couldn't afford to allow himself. Practicality was a soldier's best defense -- and offense -- so that was what Jack was. Practical. Pragmatic. Neither one of those allowed for an excess of emotion; neither one allowed for more than sitting and pondering, once in a while, in the dark.

If they didn't get back to their own time -- and even though Jack remained firm in his conviction that there was an 'or', he had to be realistic -- then there were other options that might be explored later.

He startled, just a little, when Daniel nudged him; it felt like a caress, light and fleeting, gone almost before it registered. "You should sleep."

Jack gave a little half-smile and shrugged. "Nah, I'm good."

Daniel returned the half-smile with one of his own and shifted again, easing his legs up and over Jack's. Foot rest duty, and Jack didn't mind one bit. "You still should get some sleep, Jack. Try, anyway."

"I will." He didn't feel tired, though. Not at all. Restless with longing for a lot of things, and one thing in particular, but not tired. "In a little bit."

Daniel nodded, and Jack closed his eyes briefly against the promise in Daniel's, a promise neither one could make out loud, but both recognized. Eventually, push would come to shove in some way or another. Decisions would have to be considered and made. Until then, though, he could sit and watch Daniel, his face streaked here and there with light and shadow, as the moon ducked in and out of the clouds and peeped through the curtains. He could sit and stare with no one the wiser, and think about friends who might have been more if circumstances were different, and the meaning of life, and how his life meant more with one particular friend in it.

~fin~

 


End file.
